


Static

by Subtle_Shenanigans



Series: Dissassociation [8]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: #SaveThePotato2K18, AU I guess???, Anti doesn't want him dead he wants him to suffer, Anti is not a demon, Awkward stops and starts, Body Possession, Dark fic, Discontinhed, Dissassociation, Fear of self, Gen, I am actually really sorry, I dunno I tag before I write and just see how it goes, I dunno this is just a really weird idea I'm rolling with, I have come to the realization that this fic is absolutely ridiculous, I swear that English is my first language and I am fluent, Mild Humor, Okay so I'm realizing my tenses are transitioning weird, Please read tedious A/Ns as they may contain Warnings, Possessive nature, Static, Static!Anti, Subtle Anti, TW Non-sexual choking in Ch.4, Torture, Violence, Violent dream(s), What even is present tense, and i apologize for that, awareness while being comtrolled, be warned of tags, body horror?, but I'm fond of it so it shall stay, darker self, he's a part of Jack's personality, how do my languages tenses work, in my headcanons at least, no Zalgo text cause I don't know how to use it in my phone sorry, possessing of sorts, psychological torture???, slow going, trying to keep it T plus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-04-27 04:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14417964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtle_Shenanigans/pseuds/Subtle_Shenanigans
Summary: THIS FIC IS DISCONTINUEDSuddenly he couldn't feel anything but pin-prickling static, strongest in his hands, as his hearing and touch fell together. His other senses collapsed - smell and taste to coppery-warm blood - though his eyes remained wide as darkness closed in.I warned you, Jackaboy,it hisses, the words harshly grating against teeth to brush against his ear.It was only a matter of time.-------/////-------Not related toGlitchingorEchoing. Fully separate stand alone fic.AU where Anti isn't known by the fandom, and is a darker ego that sprang into existence on his own.





	1. Static starts with numbness

**Author's Note:**

> So, you'll see as I'll say to the end of time, I feel like all the Egos "exist" in that they're parts of Jack/Seán's personality.  
> (And honestly, Skye Willows on FF who writes _Mirror, mirror_ has such a coherent, great concept of Anti and the egos. Honestly the fic in general is great and you should check it out!)
> 
> I really wanted to write Anti again, because I am such a sucker for decent dark fiction and characters.
> 
> I actually do deal with numbness to a degree with my hands and feet; plus I faint on and off (almost everytime I stand up, actually), so those parts are sorta experienced based.
> 
> I may be a little rusty, please forgive me. This'll be a short piece.
> 
> Also, is it me or does Jack seem to suffer from Dermatophagia? I think he mentioned in a video that he doesn't just tear the nail, but the skin too. I know I zeroed in on his hands in one video and thought, "huh, maybe he bites his fingers too." (I have dermatophagia, but don't bite my nails.)
> 
> Jack, I hope you never come across this trash. If you do, uh, sorry? (I'm more of a writing arts than visual arts person.)

_Static_

* * *

 

It started with the ringing.

It wasn't all that unusual; years of playing drums and listening to things too loudly left him with a bit of tinnitus. He was used to the odd, tin-y sound of it plaguing him occasionally.

But this was also very different, Jack thought. It was a deeper thrum, vaguely electronic. Like when you left the TV on too long.

He ignored it though. 

There were videos to make, after all, amongst his other things to do and people to see.

* * *

 

Next came the numbness.

It'd be in certain places, certain patches; the very tips and edges of his fingers, sometimes the bottom of his heels or pads of his toes. He just chalked it up to his finger biting habit (it wasn't just the nails that he tore at, after all), and sitting in a way that pushed on his feet at a funny angle.

But then it'd be in weird places - like his arms, or the knobs of his spine, even the roof of his mouth, and, briefly, but lightly there, his _eyes_.

Maybe it was fatigue catching up with him? Jack mayn't have the best sleep schedule, but he _did_ sleep. But even an energetic guy like him grew tired after awhile - sometimes crashing for a nap in between recordings or before going out for the day.

He was sure Wiishu would have noticed, pushing him to rest; but she had gone to visit family for a little while (someone was ill, he remembered her mentioning), and he'd be damned if he was going to worry Signe more than she already was. Their phone calls were evidence of that, anyhow.

But Jack couldn't placate the nagging feeling that something wasn't _right_.

* * *

 

Sleep came in disarmingly heavy bursts. It would drift away, elusive, than slam down to claim him. His dreams were heavy, tingling, _wrong_ ; static fuzzing green in his sleepscape, and giggling echoing at rough, different pitches.

Then he'd jolt awake, no transition between deep sleep and consciousness, mind active yet incoherent.

* * *

 

The days began to take their toll; Jack's energy was a little bit chipped, his smile a little slow, the twinkle in his eyes dimmer. He ignored it, though, because honestly, he was _tired_ , but he was fine.

Even when the comments section flooded with concerns, he told them he was fine.

It was one particular morning that Jack found he had to drag himself from bed - unusual in that he was happy to start his day, getting things done, but usual in that hey, once he did give in to sleep, he relished in it.

But his usual enthusiasm was dampened, and he had to admit it to himself: something was wrong.

Jack was surprised when he realized that he had been ignoring the problem for so long - he was an action-taker, a go-getter.

"What's _wrong_ with me lately?" He muttered, rinsing his face and meeting his own tired eyes in the mirror. His hair was disheveled, dark circles ever-so faintly appearing under his green eyes-

 _Wait_.

He shot up, standing straight in bewilderment. His hands gripped the edge of he sink to the point that they were white with tension.

And then his reflection gradually began to smirk.

It was unsettling - his own face but not his own _smile_ \- and eyes clearly colored differently than his own. The image, before so clear, was blurred on the edges, bits and pieces beginning to fizz and pixelate, as though glitching.

" _What_ -" Jack gaped.

A snigger, his doppelgänger tilting forward oh-so slightly. " _Oh, Jackaboy. I was wondering when you would finally notice~_ "

"What even - why do you look like me?" He sputtered, managing a coherent sentence despite his jumbled thoughts.

" _Isn't it obvious? I'm you_ ," the figure said, voice echoing and doubled. The pitch wavered, usually higher but just as easily dipping low.

"I-" he shut his mouth, squeezing his eyes and shaking his head. "You know what? No. Nope. I'm out." He turned to leave the bathroom, pointedly not meeting his reflection's eyes, and missing out on its sharp scowl.

"It's - it's probably nothing," he mumbled. "I'm - it's the sleep deprivation getting to me. The community is right, I'll try to ease up. Maybe shorter let's plays - I'll tweet about it. They'll understand. And - and I'm sure once I catch up on some proper sleep I'll be fine."

He rubbed his temples, ignoring the tingling static in his fingers.

 


	2. Ringing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Jack decides to vehemently ignore the-thing-that-isn't-him, he'll come to realize that it won't let that be the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: *shrugs*. I have no idea what the hell in doing with this. Stupid sticky brain. Uh. This'll continue pretty directly in the first chapter. Dang, Anti is really subtle in this fic.
> 
> Friendly reminder that this is more free-form from my headcanons, and my depression makes focusing a **biscuit** lately, so this fic is slow paced and messy.
> 
> My headcanons on the Egos in general is that they're, well, basically aspects of Jack's personality personified, but not necessarily a multiple personality/dissacossiative identity disorder way. The only way I like them as fully separate entities is if they exist in a separate plane - like Im_The_Doctor(Beforu1) ((if I'm spelling their username right)) writes them - in which case, well, I'm pretty fluid with that idea because it can be an actual dimension, or a plane of existence in Jack's mind.
> 
> Skye Willows, who writes _Mirror, Mirror_ on FF has a great concept in regards to Anti.
> 
> Unlike Darkiplier, who is canonically (spoilers if you have yet to see _Who Killed Markiplier?_ ) a separate being made from the converged souls of the entity, Damien, and (who I like to think of as his sister), Celine, I see Antisepticeye as an actual part of Jack's personality. Not just his "dark side" - no, a literal version of him without his kindness, compassion, and a disregard for morality. It's - I still don't have the best description for this. Anything I write with him has bits and pieces of my headcanons.
> 
> Also, Egopocolypse is killing me, and all my sympathy goes to Mark in regards to the Exile.
> 
> (By the way, my fav Septic Egos are Antisepticeye and Chase Brody - though I do love all of the Egos, and Jack more than the Egos :3 - and my favourite Iplier Ego's so far are Google and Damien/The Mayor, maybe The Host and King Of The Squirrels, though Darkiplier and Wilford Warfstache are awesome - I don't really know the rest of the Iplier Egos yet.
> 
> Just wanted to share.)

_Ringing_

* * *

 

He was not fine.

At least, not as fine as he convinced himself he was.

The . . . other him (?) took to following him upon reflective surfaces, though it had yet to speak again. It just watched. Waited. It left an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Jack's stomach - he just knew that there was something _wrong_ with it.

But still, he chose not to acknowledge it - as much as he hated to ignore a problem, admitting this thing existed just confirmed that there was something wrong with _him_.

So he continued on, acting normal as he could, and starting to not notice the staticy numbness anymore.

His community had been very supportive - when he tweeted that he needed some rest, they all rushed him with kind messages to 'feel better', 'rest up!', and that they all 'hope he's okay'. There were, of course, impatient and rude people, but those words were drowned out by all the other caring ones.

Of course, all his pals called to check on him. Robin, Mark, Bob, Wade, Ethan, Tyler, Felix; it warmed his heart how much they all cared, and he couldn't help the twinge of guilt for worrying everyone so much. Even Dan and Phil sent quick little messages, despite not being particularly close to Jack. He was quick to reassure everyone that it really just was his sleeping issues, and he spent a few long hours reassuring Signe and convincing her to stay and look after her ill family member.

It was definitely difficult, having her gone; he wouldn't go so far as to say he had separation anxiety, but he could definitely feel her absence in the startling quiet of the night, made oh-so more prominent in his recent paranoia. Their little gestures for one another were halted, and it ached in his heart. But he knew it was only temporary.

Though his increasingly dodgy sleep made him long for her more.

One particular night, his sleep changed - his dream was vivid and violent, ( _laying on the floor, bleeding out from the sharp slit through his throat, torn flesh throbbing and burning as he tried to **breathe** through his screaming_ ), startling him from sleep with choked, ragged gasps and skin itching from his patchy "sweating".

" _Well, well, well~ . . still trying to ignore me now, Seán?_ " A voice hissed from the darkness.

Jack tried to calm his racing heart, fumbling to turn on the bedside lamp.

But an empty room greeted him, the presence on the end of his bed, gone.

He swore, breathlessly. Digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, he muttered, "I really need to lay off the horror games past midnight."

* * *

 

Jack woke up the next morning, dark circles beneath his eyes. His skin was paler than usual, enunciating them. Even his baby blues had a duller tint of shale to them.

"Not sure what to do now," he muttered, as he sipped his fourth cup of coffee. He had promised his friends and community that he'd be taking it easy for a bit, which meant either a long video every two days, or a short video every day - and not just whittled down from editing. 

Robin had been very stern.

That didn't mean he couldn't play for fun - he was planning on playing some Prop Hunt and Uno with the guys later, without recording purposes. But until then, he wasn't sure what to do or play. Maybe he'd. . . clean or something?

But, glancing around, there wasn't much _to_ do; he was pretty good about cleaning up after himself, and there wasn't a need to do a heavy cleaning very often around his apartment. He could definitely take his mug to the sink, but besides that, there wasn't much else to do.

Jack ended up passing the hours watching tv; he ignored the irritated face glaring at him from the blank screen - it disappeared as soon as the device flickered to life. 

His mind kept wanting to draw back to the . . . döppleganger, which he kept dismissing immediately. There was no point in thinking about it when it _wasn't_ _real_.

"It's the lack of sleep, Seán," he muttered to himself, finding that talking out loud helped ease his nerves. "Too many psychological horror games, and too little sleep."

Eventually, Jack lost himself into the set. A few hours passed. When he noticed the time he scrambled to get himself a late meal from the kitchen. As soon as he was done with that, he realized that the others would be messaging him in his recording room to play in a matter of minutes.

He was actually a little late when he made it, and he sheepishly grinned, fingers running through his hair as he clicked 'accept' and apologized.

"I'm _soo_ sorry, you guys. Got caught up with the tv."

"Don't you mean, 'the telly'."

" _Really_ , Mark? If anything, I'd call it 'the set'."

"What got you so enraptured? Were your soaps on?"

"Hey, Bob, now _I'm_ offended; I'll have you know that soap operas are great, and-"

"Of course Mark watches soap operas."

Jack smiled easily at their bickering, the group dynamic of his friends filling him with warmth. It made him realize how _lonely_ he'd been feeling with Signe gone. And he'd never been one for loneliness or isolation.

He yelled back just as loud and boisterous as Mark and Bob's "argument" escalated - in their tirade, they'd been paired together, while Jack got Wade. The Irishman chattered back and forth happily with his friend, while the other two didn't notice the timer ticking down.

"G-dangit, where are you?!" Mark hit some high tone with minimal squeaking, which even Jack could appreciate.

"I dunno, Wade," Jack said cheekily. "Do they deserve a hint?"

"I dunno; will these two lug heads even get it?"

Jack laughed. "Well, when they get **tire** dof running around like idiots. . ."

". . .they'll see what they're looking for. I mean, I know _I've_ been on my _**bath**_ behavior so far."

Jack bit his lip as Mark screeched in incoherent frustration and realization, Bob following with a shout of his own. It wasn't their best hints, by far, but even if it gave them away it was worth it to solicit those sorts of reactions from them.

Man, he loves his friends.

" _Oh you do, don't you? But you've been hiding something from them~_ "

Jack's eyes widened and he froze, mouth partially opened. No. Oh no n _o no no_.

He heard ringing, faint, subtle, but picking up in volume way too fast, and drowning out all senses except for hands griping his own shoulders, the sensation foreignly familiar, and breath ghosting against his ear.

" _ **Lying**_ ," it hissed. " _Lying to your friends, your fans,_ _**yourself**_ ; _what are you going to do when they finally find out?_ "

Jack didn't hear the confused voices of his friends as he sat frozen, unresponsive. He was unaware of their quickly turned, worried shouting, as he teetered to one side, spasming slightly as he hit the floor.

All he knew was the presence ~~inside?~~  beside him, and the ringing in his ears as he was encompassed with tingling darkness.

Unconsciousness claimed him.


	3. Disconnection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets a stern talking to from Mark, while Anti doesn't bother him too much for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft chapter.
> 
> Anti will get his name, and more involvement, soon.
> 
> Sorry about the interactions here; I barely know Bob and Wade outside of the collab vids they're in, and Mark definitely comes across as the mom friend to me. So yeah. More OOCness and Bullcrap from me.
> 
> Anyways. Here's another little part. I. . . actually don't remember what I had planned originally for this chapter - very vaguely do I. So I'm just gonna wing it.
> 
> This wasn't supposed to be so coherent and linear - I was going to jump around a bit. But in glad I'm trying shorter chapters for once. I typically write around 2K for chapters in stories, or one-shots, so writing under 1K, well. . .
> 
> It's simultaneously a relief, and frustrating. I guess I just have foo many words bottles up inside. But there's also a relief to clipping corners, and keeping things simple.
> 
> Sorry; I'm a long-winded person. Maybe I _would_ be a hare in the Redwall series.

_Disconnection_

* * *

 

   Jack regained consciousness gradually.

And it hurt.

   It was like his whole body had lost circulation; stabbing gray needles of feeling return, agonizingly slow, yet too fast.

   He just stared at the ceiling, blinking. A face - his face - leered down at him with sharp green eyes, and an even sharper grin. It giggled, then sniggered, glitching out from his view.

    " _Whoopsie daisy, Seán ~ Better get up before your friends call an ambulance._ "

   Jack furrowed his brow in confusion, the frantic voices coming from his headphones getting louder.

    He gave a groan as he tried to sit up, the headphones dangling oddly from around his neck ( _the cord wrapped around once, although it couldn't have-_ ). He rubbed a hand across his forehead, swallowing thickly and calling out, "I'm okay - guys, I'm okay-"

The voices chimed out more fervently, demanding answers. Jack waved a hand from where he was sitting on the floor, hoping the camera would catch it, and gave a 'one minute' gesture.

He was really glad they weren't recording for a video.

When Jack was able to, he stood, gingerly, and sat himself back into his green and black chair, swiveling and pulling himself to his desk. His vision was smeared, oddly, unable to focus properly. But he could see the game diverted to its menu screen, and the vague shape of his friends' faces in their windows.

(There was faint, faint buzzing in the back of his mind, the sound of it in his ears, and his tongue felt heavy and rough)

"I'm fine guys - I just, I dunno? Had a fainting spell?"

"Fainting spell? Jack-" Mark sounded incredulous, faintly appalled at his friend's flat dismissal. "You _fell off your chair out of the blue_ -" 

"You sorta looked like you spasmsed-" Wade chimed in.

"-and _that_ , so don't you dare pretend like you're fine-"

"Yeah man, it was really weird-" Bob, this time.

"-or I will effing _get on a plane and fly over there_ so I can drag your scrawny _behind_ to the hospital and _get your head scanned_."

It was a quiet clamor for a moment as Jack winced; he knew Mark was really worried when his voice rose to that octave, as well as Wade's babbling, and Bob's tripping over words indicated the same thing. Did it really look _that_ bad?

Jack took a deep breath.

"Okay, okay; you're right," all three of his friends shut up then, watching and listening as he spoke slowly, carefully, "I did just have a weird spaz attack; I definitely blacked out, and I felt pins'n'needles when I woke up. But," he looked down, almost in shame. Then looked up sheepishly and shrugged. "I don't think it's that big of a deal. I just had cereal for dinner, which probably wasn't my best idea, and. . ."

Jack trailed off, fidgeting a little. He resisted the urge to bite his fingers. (' _Not like I can explain this whole evil self thing going on._ ') He really didn't want to. But. . .

"I-" he drummed his fingers on the top of his desk. "I still haven't been sleeping well, okay? I woke up a lot last night - maybe got three or four hours of sleep. _Restless_ sleep. So I'm sure I'm just low on energy."

" _The_ JackSepticEye? Low on energy?" Bob's tone was teasing. Trying to ease the tension.

But "mommy Markimoo" wasn't going to let it drop, even if he did relax a little. "Look. Seán."

Jack started when he heard Mark address him by his name.

" _Ooh_ , someone's in _trouble_ -"

"I _swear to god, Bob_ -"

"Well he can't help it if you're going all 'mom mode', Mark-"

"-Wade, shut up."

Mark, though thousands of miles away, made eye contact through the cameras that Jack couldn't break. "Look. I know you're hiding something. I don't know if you're worse than you've been saying, or what. But you need to talk to someone. One of us. Robin. Signe. Godamit Jack, call your own mom if you have to! We're your friends and you should _trust us_. Okay? I know I'm not alone when I say I'm really worried" - and he was, Jack could see it in his eyes - "just. Someone. Okay? Can you promise me that? That you'll talk to someone?"

Jack looked down. Thought. Smiled softly. "Okay. Yeah. I- I'm sorry I haven't been really up front about stuff. I just didn't want to bother anyone, y'know?"

"Pffft, you obviously don't know us if you think we'd think you're a problem Jack," Bob was sure to say.

"I know."

Mark gave Jack one last long, hard look. "I'm holding you to that. And you better tell me you talked to someone in a _week_ , or else."

"Yes, _mom_."

"Hey! Don't take that time with me mister, I mean it." (He didn't. Not when using _that_ voice.) He smiled at him. "Now get some rest. I know it's effing late out there."

"Goodnight, Jack!"

"Night, buddy!"

"Night, guys," Jack said, smiling as he logged off.

As soon as he disconnected the video feed and mike, he slid down in his chair with a heavy puff, closing his eyes tightly, trying to ignore the mocking laughter.

. . .Who the hell was he supposed to talk to about _this_?


	4. Distortions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack can't sleep, so his döppleganger decides to be nice and help.
> 
> Well, maybe not nice, but it could be argued whether or not he helped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have finished antibiotics and have been having a migraine but IT IS TIME FOR MORE CRUDDY WRITING MY FRIENDOS.
> 
> At this point I'm doing the writing equivalent of doodling and I don't care.
> 
>  **TRIGGER WARNING:** This chapter in particular will be violent - I'm even going to specify that choking and blacking out are in this one. There's also unwanted presence in a person's bed - it's not sexual, at all, but I understand that 'bed' translates to safe place, and something like that could make someone extremely uncomfortable. I will put bolded asterisks ( ******* ) at the beginning and end points of the particularly dark strands of writing, in case you wish to skip over it. You have been henceforth warned.

* * *

_Distortions_

* * *

 

     Jack really did think about what Mark had said, he did.

   But it wasn't that simple.

   He weighed the pros and cons of who to talk to - Signe was the very first to come to mind. His other half, cheesy at it sounded. But he really did trust her with all his heart.

    That didn't stop the faint thought of _worry worry worry_ that came up, drawing him away from her. He couldn't - he didn't even want to imagine her thinking he was crazy, or leaving. It was illogical, he _knew_ that, but the paranoia that has been accompanying his sleepless nights and arrival of his same-faced companion only fueled it.

   He respected his YouTube friends so much, who could he even begin to think about talking to? 

    Jack rubbed his face, sighing. So far, Robin and Mark seemed to be his best options, but he couldn't quite bring himself to choose one.

    "Just get some sleep, Jackaboy," he muttered to himself. "Mark's givin' you a week anyways."

But even as he lay there, he couldn't sleep. His mind kept turning, from döpplegangers to concerned friends; echoing darkness and hazy wakefulness; distortions and dreams and reality nothing but a knotted ball of thoughts and worries.

Jack was used to his hyper-activity; his brain firing at odd hours in the night. But not to _this_ degree - not with such worrisome thoughts and troubles.

He huffed a sigh, groaning as he rubbed his palms down his face. " _Ugh_! I'm not gonna get any sleep at this rate, am I?"

" _Well, why didn't you ask? I could always help you with that~_ "

 ******* Jack's eyes shot open, blue eyes wide as he felt a presence above him. He struggled to get up as the added weight dipped his bed, but a hand shoved him down, hard enough to bruise.

Green eyes all too bright in the gloom smiled down at him, teeth glinting in the dimness. " _Didjya miss me?_ "

Jack started to speak, trying to get up, but two hands curled around his throat, familiar fingers clawing into the skin.

" _Don't be that way - after all, I'm just trying to help. You did want to get some sleep, didn't you?_ "

Jack couldn't breathe - _he couldn't breathe!_ Panic settled in as he clawed and tugged at the arms holding him down, trying to kick the figure that pinned him to the bed. His chest burned and spasmsed; the hands tightened their grip, a soft chuckle echoing in the dark.

" _Aw, you're going to struggle? That'll only make it more fun for me._ "

The room was getting darker; his limbs heavier. Jack couldn't tell if it was his chest seizing up that was stopping him from breathing, or the hands themselves. _Was he having a panic attack?_

All he could focus on was that he couldn't _breathe_ \- the voice and weight seemed to fade away, his struggles grew fainter. He kept clinging, struggling, to stay awake, _feeling dread that he would die and couldn't do a thing about it_.

Before the darkness, darker than that of the night-encompasses room, could drown him, he heard the perversion of his own voice whisper, " _Nighty-night, Seán."_

* * *

 

 ******* Bird song flittered, heavy and low through the glass of his window. Jack's eyes fluttered open, as he groggily took in his surroundings.

   Almost immediately he flew up, breathing heavily, too heavily, and too fast, blue eyes darting and _searching searching searching_ for the figure that had been in his room last night.

Hadn't it?

His hand reached of its own accord to feel his throat, the skin aching sorely, but he flinched as a too-familiar hand brushes against his skin. He dropped it in fearful shock.

His own hands.

He was-

He was frightened of his _own hands_.

He swallowed sharply.

"No," he whispered to himself. "No, it was that - that, _Anti_ -me. Not- not _me_. I'm - vivid nightmares. Mark's right, I need to talk to someone," he hopped out of bed as he said it, swiping his phone off of the dresser.

The bathroom door slammed open and bounced off the wall as Jack rushed in, eyes trained on the mirror. For a brief, fleeting moment, his neck had dark, purple bruises encasing it. Then, with a few blinks, it was gone, though the flesh still hurt as though bruised.

He went to touch it again, but even just his fingers brushing sent his heart rate rocketing.

Not taking his eyes off of his reflection, he swiped through his contacts, and clicked _call_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying so hard to keep it vague as to what degree Anti is real.
> 
> Like, as long as Jack _thinks_ Anti can touch him, then he can. But if he truly believes he cannot, then he cannot.


	5. A break in the static

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack heeds Mark's advice by calling one of his best friends, no matter how much he doesn't want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shrugs* Who did you expect I would have him call? I don't feel confident enough to write Signe, and honestly? This whole group of YouTube friends I'm sure would fly out to help one another if needed.
> 
> The dialogue??? Is so??? Stiff???
> 
> I don't know the timezones difference too well between Ireland and California - Jack does livestreams around 5pm his time, So that'd be, what, a 7 hour difference? Maybe 8? So you can assume Mark was taking a nap or turning in really early if Jack woke up at 11am.
> 
> I don't know what I'm doing anymore but OCD is compelling me to update since 5 is a nice number.

_A break in the static_

* * *

  It only took two rings before they picked up, voice groggy. "Jack? What's up? You never call this late unless it's for a collab or something."

    Jack opened his mouth, but couldn't even get a rasping whimper out.

    Mark must have been alerted by his silence; he heard sheets ruffle as his friend sat up, voice suddenly clearer. "What's wrong? Did something happen? Did you call Signe?"

   Jack finally found words - well a word - that came out a soft whisper. "No."

   Mark was silent a moment, then said, "Is . . .is it about your whatever that's been going on lately?"

    ". . .yes."

    More silence. 

    "I- Mark, look," Jack's voice suddenly returned. "Maybe I shouldn't have called. Sorry to wake you."

    Before he could even attempt to hang up, he heard his friend growl out, "That's bull, Jack, and you know it. Look," he heard Mark sigh, "I can understand that it might be hard, whatever it is, but you already called me - I know you feel like you need the help, no matter how much you're trying not to inconvenience someone - and shut your mouth, don't even deny it - so just. Please, Jack. I'm here. You know I'm willing to listen."

   Jack winced, cursing himself for calling _Mark_ of all people. His friend had too big of a heart; wouldn't let something like this go easily, even if he was avoiding being pushy. 

    Suddenly, as the doubt crept in his mind, a set of hands curled around his shoulders, and breath ghosted against his ear as though someone where about to speak-

   He sucked in a sharp, startled breath, darting out of the bathroom. He didn't stop until he was on the front patio, in a patch of sunlight.

    He forgot about the phone, as he tried to control his panicked breathing.

    Forgot, until he heard a timid, ". . .Jack?"

     "Uhm," he scrambled for the phone, bringing it back to his ear and leveling out his heaving breaths best as he could. "Sorry, just - thought I saw something. I'm - I've been . . . not sleeping much lately," he added, voicing dropping as though it were an admission of guilt.

    Mark's silence was obviously a prompt to continue, so after a hesitant moment of thought, he finished with, "I've been having really vivid nightmares for a while now."

    "How long?" No judgement, no rush.

    "Maybe," Seán scrunched his eyes in thought, "I dunno, a few weeks? It started sometime before Signe left. Though it wasn't as bad; just one or two a week."

   ". . . and was it when you heard Signe was leaving, or before that?"

   Jack wished he had a corded phone, so that he could mess with the twirls on it. "Sometime before."

    "Hm, so probably not separation anxiety. Are they - have they been worse since you've been alone? And what do they focus on? Friends, family? Certain events? Is it heights?"

    Mark's tone was calm, patient. Jack felt himself feeling more at ease; it felt good to finally get the weight off of his chest. "They've definitely gotten worse since Woosh has been gone" - he could imagine Mark giving a smile at hearing Jack's fond nickname for his girlfriend; most of his friends found it adorable - "um, usually really violent, not heights. They're actually usually about . . .me," he could imagine Mark frowning now, "and they've started to affect me when I'm awake pretty badly."

    ". . .seeing stuff?"

    Jack nodded, then remembered Mark couldn't see. "Uh, yeah. And hearing stuff." _And feeling stuff_ , though he didn't add that part. Not yet.

    It was silent, for a long while. Jack fidgeted, ignoring the green, glitching eyes peering from the window on the side of his apartment. When Mark finally spoke, it startled him.

    "Okay, so hear me out: I don't think you're going to go talk to a doctor, no matter how much any of us persist, and I doubt you've talked to Signe about this. 

   So, what we're going to do is, that I'm going to come out for a visit for awhile, provided that you at least tell Wiishu that you're having trouble sleeping. Got it?"

    Jack tried not to wheeze.

   "But - You have your own work and busy life schedule! You can't just drop it and come out here! Besides-!"

   "Jack," Mark cut him off, tone brimming with dark finality. "You didn't let me finish. If you don't agree to this, I'm going to call Signe so _effing_ fast, that she'll have your a** in a doctors office before you can say 'Boss', got it?"

    "But-"

      "No," Jack shut his mouth as Mark continued, "no 'buts'. Just let me help my friend - _please_."

     "I. . ." Jack sighed, ignoring the grinning figure in the window, "okay. Just, just don't worry anyone else over this, okay? And . . .take a day or two to get ready before coming out here."

    "Deal - now go call Signe, let her know the basics. I get you don't want to worry her when she has that dying family member, but she's your partner Seán. You need to keep being honest."

    "Ok. See you in a few days."

     "See you then."

     Jack stared down at the phone as it shut off. A shape made of static peered back, grin wide as the slit on its throat.

    " _Well, well, well~ this should be fun._ "


	6. Mockery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a day or two. Jack should be fine.
> 
> Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anti gets more direct, agitating Jack more until Mark gets there. But Jack isn't about to let it just get to him.   
> Still not _quite_ sure how it'll play out when I have him join, because honestly, _this was only supposed to be a one-shot series not a story oh gog what did I do_.
> 
> I literally have no end planned.
> 
> Anyways!! Things I will be getting into eventually is the body possession to a degree, as well as Jack becoming afraid of himself. It's really messed up, isn't it? But that's the point - I don't think anyone's explored it in this way. They usually have Anti as a solidly separate entity, or an alternate personality that he's afraid will hurt someone else. But this Anti can't do those things - and really, just wants to make Jack himself suffer.
> 
> I dunno if I'm making sense. Psychological stuff it just interesting to think about.

_Mockery_

* * *

 The first thing Jack did was call Signe, like he had agreed.

    She was definitely worried; worried, but understanding. He could also hear the relief in her voice knowing that Mark would be there to help him, and that she could take care of her family member.

    Then he posted on social media: just saying he caught a bug, and couldn't record for a few days. He'd make an effort, but couldn't promise his normal update schedule. The flood of get-well messages began to flow, and he shut off his phone, sighing.

    His community was too kind, really.

    (In the morning he would see that Mark posted a message about helping a friend, who wished to remain anonymous, with a problem of theirs, so he would be on a break for a bit - most people guessed he was meeting up with Jack for various reasons, but overall they were respectful and understanding of Mark's absence.

    After all, he would be prerecording tons of material for them.)

   But with that all said and done, it left Jack alone with the empty quiet of the house, and the buzzing of his own thoughts.

    ( _there was also the dim, distant sound of static_.)

    He was at a loss of what to do. Jack felt scared, and nervous, almost sending him into a fit of paranoia. What was this - this Anti-him thing? He had never had a strong conviction in the supernatural, or any belief system, but his mind kept grasping at the thought that whatever this thing was, it was _real_. 

   Or, at least felt real. Even if it didn't leave lasting damage, or he just healed faster or whatever it. . .it still hurt him.

  _It could still hurt him._

      _"Oh? Getting the idea now Jackaboy?"_

    He reacted instantly; trying to run, but a pair of familiar hands clamped down uncomfortably onto his shoulders, and his body froze in fear.

    He heard it chuckle, as he tried to find his voice but could not. It waited patiently though, until he could dryly crackle, "Wha-what do you even _want_?"

    " _Aww_ ," it crooned, voice ghosting against his ear, " _isn't it obvious?_ "

   He hands tightened into fists. Through the haze of fear he felt . . . distantly angry.

    Jack's words came out bolder than he felt (he couldn't understand why he had become so weak, so quickly.) "No, it isn't."

    A snigger. " _Oh? You're actually growing a pair? I'm surprised_ ," the hands softened slightly, almost comforting, until they slid down and grasped his arms, jerking him around to look at it.

    He tried to fight against it - _he didn't want to look._ He couldn't - he couldn't face some perversion of himself; his face, his voice, his eyes, all darker and crueler than himself.

   " _After all, you've been avoiding me all this time~ I thought maybe you were **afraid** of me_."

   Jack grit his teeth - he _was_ scared of him. He was paranoid, and sleep-deprived, and _tired_ , dammit, but he was starting to get angry. Angry at this thing for tormenting him, angry at himself for letting it not only get to him so bad, but for avoiding his problems for so long.

   Whatever this thing was - a part of himself, or some hallucination brought on because of sleep deprivation, he wasn't going to let it control him.

    "Afraid? Please," he huffed. It was painfully obvious he didn't sound as convincing as he wanted to, but the tremor in his voice steadied a little bit. "You're about as scary as a poorly-made horror game." He didn't mention that quite a few poorly made horror games had still given him decent jumpscares.

    "I mean, you're pretty much me with green eyes, and according to most people, I'm _adorable_ , not scary." He looked past the glitching figure's face, ignoring the sharp, green eyes, and the gaping shred through the flesh of its throat.

     The hands griping his wrists, keeping him in place, loosened a little bit. Anti-Jack's (Anti's?) face was blank, green eyes just boring into him.

   And then he smirked, his form glitching more frantically as he began to snigger, hands suddenly gripping enough to bruise. 

     " _Ah, you're funny! **Hilarious** , even. But you and I both know that's a bunch of bull. Buuuuut,"_ he flickered out of existence, and was suddenly behind Jack, hands creeping up and snaking around his neck, as his pulse sky-rocketed and he stiffened in absolute terror, " _since you're trying so hard to be a brave boy, I'll be a little **nicer**. Just for today."_

    A pause, then, voice dipped lower than its normal shrill tone, he said warningly, " _But don't think that means I'm done with you_."

     The hands left his neck, but Jack still didn't move, even when he felt that the presence had left the room; he saw the tv screen flicker with green static momentarily, out of the corner of his eye. Then it went dark. Only then did he loosen, shaking and falling to the couch, fighting the urge to reach up and touch his neck.

    How was he going to wait more than 24 hours for Mark to get there? 

    And even then, what could Mark even _do_?

    "This is so effed up," he whispered to himself.

    The static in his ears only seemed to ring louder.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry Jack but this is basically a psychological . . . not happy story (does this constitute as horror or angst or what?) So, uh, your actions will have consequences.


	7. Faulty Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Mark finally arrives, there's a sense of . . . peace. Maybe this all really is just in his head, from the loneliness.
> 
> That's all shattered pretty quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nnnnnnggggghhhyhyyaaaa I'm hesitant about this one because it's sorta dark? Like, more so in some ways?
> 
> This may be longer than the other chapters, but not super long I'm sure.
> 
>  **WARNINGS** : This chapter will have stabbing, blood, and muffling/smothering of a sort, with descriptions of feelings of helplessness. Bold asterisks ( ******* ) will be used to indicate beginning and end of altercation. You have been henceforth warned. 
> 
> Honestly though the tags should tip you off - uh, let me know if this should be changed to a Mature rating, or if I should add more to this particular chapter warning.

  _Faulty Reception_

* * *

 

     Anti kept his word.

     The döppleganger didn't even show a trace of his green eyes for the rest of the day.

    Honestly, it made Jack _more_ paranoid.

    Did it expect him to trust what it said? Because that was never going to happen.

     His dreams that night had returned to the vague, green-glowing fuzz of disconnected thoughts and feelings; fear and terror and anger in a numbing bumble of tumbling thoughts and feelings.

    All day the next day, Anti-Jack merely followed him in reflective surfaces, even giving him a 'good morning' from the bathroom mirror. Jack kept his eyes down, focused away, and pretended to ignore him.

    (Not that he could, anymore.)

    He was practically tearing into his fingers the next morning, shaking with nervous energy while he waited for Mark to arrive. His plane had been a night flight, so he should be there around five or so in the morning.

     A knock on the door, firm and calm. Jack threw it open wide and felt tension drain from him as he saw Mark. "Glad you made it safe. C'mon in."

    Mark stepped through the doorway, looked at Jack in concern. "Damn. You look worse than I thought."

    Jack chuckled. Ran his fingers through his hair. "Well it's nice to see you to, ya bastard."

    They shared a hug briefly, after Mark set his suitcase by the couch.

   "So," he said, sitting down heavily. "What do you want to do first? We can play some games, order a pizza later tonight. Maybe watch some tv for now. Or, well," he rubbed the back of his neck, "we can talk about this problem you've been having."

    Jack fidgeted, unsure. He had begun feeling loads better, just by having him here, but he knew he couldn't just ignore the issue all over again. But he also wasn't sure where to start, or even _how_.

   Mark, the great friend he was, noticed his hesitance and instantly softened his voice. "Hey, we don't have to talk about anything yet. I'm here for a little while at least, and there'll be plenty of time to talk when you're ready. But we won't completely avoid it, yeah?"

    Jack nodded, gathering the courage to meet his friend's eyes. "Okay."

    Mark grinned, and clapped his fingers together. "Okay, first things first then! You're going to go shower, and I'll whip up some breakfast."

    "Wha-?"

   He pushed Jack towards the hallway. "No buts! Your hair is a greasy mess, and you look like you've been dragged through the dirt. So, shower time for you."

   Jack watched him in bafflement as he was left there, and Mark turned around, humming cheerfully. After a moment, he shook his head and smiled in fond exasperation. "You're such a mom friend," he whispered.

    Jack managed to take his shower - no evil self in the mirror, for once. He wouldn't lie; he had avoided showering the last two days after the nightmare, because of the feeling of someone watching, and not wanting to be vulnerable. But he could hear Mark in the kitchen, cursing as he dropped an egg(?), and singing made-up songs. Even through the pitter-pattering of the shower it was loud and present.

    When he was finished, he felt a whole lot better. He even peaked at himself in the mirror - though there was a brief flash of mottled, dark prints around his neck, it vanished quickly. His eyes remained the same brilliant blue.

    The day played out in much the same fashion; though it was obvious that Jack was very overtired, and a little off, Mark was patient and his usual, falsely-egotistical self. They took the day slow - leisurely watching movies and either commenting goofily or seriously as it played on-screen. It was probably around five pm that they finally ordered a pizza (half cheese and half pineapple-ham).

    It was after a rough competition of _Mario Kart_  that Mark fell back on the couch despite Jack's protesting squeak, groaning, "I'm tiiiirreeed."

    Jack laughed, trying to shove his friend off of him. " _Gerrof_! It's barely," he turned to glance at the clock. ". . .oh, I guess it's almost eight. But that's kinda early for bed, ain't it?"

    Mark merely let his weight settle heavier. "I've been awake since yesterday, Jack. I want to sleeeeep."

    He squeezed out from under him, landing with a thud on the floor. "Fiiiiine. You wet blanket."

    "Does anyone even say that anymore?"

    "Shut up. You're acting like an old man anyways."

    "Am not." He stuck out his tongue.

    "Am too," his Irish friend retorted.

    The stared at one another, trying to remain serious. But nothing could stop them from dissolving into laugher, Mark's deep, reverberating chuckles spurning Jack on, and Jack's own full-throated laugh making Mark laugh even harder.

    When they finally got ahold of themselves, Jack stood up. "I'll go get you some pillows and a blanket. I think I'll grab my stuff and sleep on the floor." The last part was half-heartedly muttered, like an afterthought.

    Mark immediately sat half-way up. "Do you want the couch?" He asked, concerned. "Because it's your house - I don't mind the floor."

   Jack waved his hand, tone filled with its famous Irish stubbornness. "Nah. You're the guest. And besides, I'm the one who's being weird about being alone. The floor's no problem."

    He was out and down the hall before Mark could protest, though the American did give a heavy sigh.

   By time they got all set up for bed, it was about nine thirty pm. The appartment was still, and hushed - the sounds of traffic muted, and the streetlights that shone through the blinds were dim. Mark was asleep, snoring softly. Jack was beginning to drift off, when he heard soft footsteps on the carpet.

    _Oh no._

 ******* His eyes shot open, mouth unclamped and ready to call for the help that was _right next to him_ , but a familiar weight pinned him down and a hand clamped over his mouth. In the dim lighting he couln't see much except the glint in the white of his eyes, and the glimmer of teeth as he spoke.

    " _Shhh, wouldn't want to wake up your friend, now would you?_ "

    Jack wrapped his fingers around the arm, trying to pry it off, but Anti was the same strength as him - it got him nowhere. In fact, he was pushed down harder for his efforts, eyes wide in the dark and trained on the figure above.

    (The glitching was deceptive to how truly solid the being was.)

   Anti-Jack's voice was soft, even in his higher pitch, almost as though sharing a secret. Jack saw the glint of a knife as his other hand came into view, and he was shaking as Anti ran it under his right eye. 

    " _I told you, didn't I? I kept my promise - I didn't bother you all day. For more than a day even. But you didn't **really** think I was done with you, did you?_ "

    Jack was frozen, almost hyperventilating, though the hand covering his mouth helped prevent that. He couldn't move - didn't even think to move, until Anti pointed the blade straight at his eye, and growling once more, " _did you?_ "

    He shook his head, the movement minuscule. But Anti noticed.

    He grinned, and Seán once more felt overwhelmingly sick. This was _him_ , even if it wasn't. Even the voice was his own, just at a strained pitch.

    " _Now_ ," Anti said tapping his chin with the knife. His voice stayed low, as though he was trying not to wake Mark. That worried Jack, because if Mark could-

    Anti's voice cut through his thoughts. Green eyes bore into him, as his döppleganger spoke almost happily, " _I think it's time I had a little fun._ " He giggled maniacally, eyes squinting in a way reminiscent of Jack, but under the circumstances gave him nothing but foreboding.

   That was when Anti plunged the knife into his stomach.

    Jack arched, the hand over his mouth muffling the scream. He dimly heard Mark turn over in his sleep, but all he could focus on was the feeling of metal protruding through his lower abdomen, and blood welling up icy-hot. Anti was sniggering now, pulling the blade free, and Jack felt nothing but all-consuming _terror_.

   He was crying, sobbing, the second time the blade shredded through his flesh. It was the third when he remembered his own hands, and wrapped them around the knife wielding hand, trying to claw the at the skin. But it was slick with hot blood - _his own blood_ \- and his strength was failing him as he bled out on his appartment floor.

    " _Hmm_ ," Anti grumbled, though Jack barely heard it through the shrill ringing in his ears. " _Maybe I should take things slower next time. You're fading far too fast_." it was maybe the seventh? Or was it the twelfth time? Either way, the blade was in his stomach again, closer to the torso - he could see his hands overlapping the other as he tried to rip it free and _get up_.

    The hand over his mouth slackened as he fell back a final time, darkness enroaching his vision. He was panting, pain wracking across his stomach, and he couldn't find the strength to move his head when it keeled to the side. The weight moved off of him, tentatively, though he barely felt it as his life bled away. He barely heard Anti's departing words, though he did catch sight of him crawling into the tv, form dissolving into pure static and melding with the screen.

 *******    " _Until next time Seánny boy~ I'm sure we'll have lots of fun_."

    And everything faded out.

    And then, there was nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm blaming Jack himself for this one, since he said in that one Would You Rather video that he's scared of being stabbed. And Anti sure likes his Stabby-Do.
> 
> Sorry not sorry *shrugs*


	8. noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something like electronic noise from a screen.
> 
> He wakes up to Mark's worried face.
> 
> And then it all comes crashing back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: I just want to do a big thank you to you guys for reading, Kudos, and comments ^u^. Reception of this fic has been absolutely lovely so far and I really appreciate it!
> 
> Honestly, let's see how fast I write this chapter.
> 
> After this I don't have much planned *shrugs* like, Mark is here and all, but there's no solution to Jack's Anti problem.
> 
> Plus I'm trying to figure out which approach to go in terms of our favourite glitchy boyo.
> 
> This fic, while in third person, is strictly from Jack's POV - we don't see Anti or Mark's internal thoughts, and everything is experienced from Jack's perspective, as I'm sure you've noticed. Just thought I'd mention that.

_noise_

* * *

 It's nothing but dark unconsciousness. No dreams.

   Awareness trickles in, cushioning around him like the electronic noise of a tv screen. A voice tried to grasp for him through it, dim and distant.

    When he wakes up, the first thing Jack sees is Mark hovering over him, worry painfully clear on his face.

    And then it all comes crashing back.

     Jack scrambled upright, hyperventilating; eyes darting around in a wild fervor, so much so that his vision is blurry. Hands grab at his shoulders and at first he tries to wrench himself out of their hold. But then, he realizes they feel different - they're wider than his own. Warmer.

    Mark's voice pierced through the muffling ring of his hearing. "-ack? Jack! Jack, calm down, okay? Deep breaths, follow me; in for four. . . hold for seven . . .okay, out for eight. . .and again. . .uh huh, good, keep going. In for four. . ."

    He keeps Jack going like that for a good five minutes; it helps considerably, though the memory keeps replaying again and again, whirlwinding in a circle.

    When he's been breathing normally for a bit, Mark gently helps sit him up against the couch. Jack's sure he'd rather get him _on_ the couch, but he's trembling too much to stand.

     Mark speaks first, probably hoping it'll prompt Jack to share. "I woke up 'cause I was thirsty and you were whining in your sleep; it looked like you were struggling to breathe. Dude, you're like really pale - paler than normal - and I thought I saw. . . I thought. . .," he shook his head. "Nevermind. Can you . . .are you up to telling me what happened? Was it a bad dream?"

    Jack found himself nodding, and although fearful, there was an overwhelming relief that he could finally talk to someone about this. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap as he worked up the courage, and he was sure Mark noticed.

    "I-" he licked his lips, finding his mouth dry, throat constricting his voice to a rasping squeak, "I . . .think it was a dream. It's," he paused, rubbing his eyes with his wrists ( _didn't want his hands anywhere near his face_ ) and breathing heavily.

    "It was . . . about the, uh, the Anti-me again," he began, slowly. "H-he- he held me down, and was saying some messed up stuff about wanting to have fun, and he - he," Jack bit back a sob, and Mark's arm around him tightened comfortingly. "He stabbed me in the stomach, over and over and _over_ , I-" a shudder, " _eff_ , I think I bled out," he finally whispered.

     He heard Mark mutter a vehement curse. It was silent for a few moments, and Jack tried to calm his racing nerves, but he couldn't stop thinking about _his own hands wrapped around his neck, tight, and then his own hand kept over his mouth to stop him from screaming as the blade-_

    When his friend seemed to gather himself, he gave Seán's shoulder a firm squeeze, dragging him from the traumatic memory. "I'm - I don't really want to scare you," Mark started, voice low and thick with concern, "But I - when I woke up, Seán. . .your shirt was soaked in blood."

    Jack sucked in a sharp breath.

    "It was just for a quick second - and then it was gone. I - I just figured, maybe I was having a bad dream after tasting your devil pineapple pizza last night," he chuckled, but the joke fell flat. After an unsteady inhale, he continued, "but something - this is too weird. Especially with what you drea- with whatever happened last night."

     Jack's still trembling, his fear cloying and clinging. How did everything turn so horrible, so fast? He couldn't deny that there was _something_ going on, nor could he deny that it was more than just vivid nightmares or hallucinations - not if Mark saw the blood.

    "I-," he sucked in too sharply, voice cutting out for a moment. He knew he had brought Mark out of his own daze, so when he felt the ability to speak come back, he pushed himself to say, "When I . . .when I called you the other day, about my p-problem," he held back a whine when he tripped over his words, opting to keep his voice softer than normal, "I - _he_ had. . ."

    ". . .This other you did something else, didn't he?" Mark guessed.

    Jack nodded. "Effed up motherfluffer - he pretty much. . .choked me until I was unconscious. Said he was _helping_ me, since I couldn't sleep." The fear was beginning to fade as he caught ahold of his self once more, though it still lingered. He looked pointedly away from Mark, accent thicker with emotion. "Woke up the next morning and I couldn't - couldn't even touch my own neck. It looked all bruised up in the mirror, but faded after a bit." He shuddered, bringing his knees up to his chest.

    "So," Mark said, dully, "we're dealing with something that may or may not be able to actually hurt you - because I _know_ what I saw, that was _blood -_ and we probably can't just go to someone for help because they'll either lock you into a psych ward or flood you with meds, _dammit_ , so- so-" his voice had risen higher, pitch and tone and octave climbing as he let anger on his friend's behalf course through him. Jack saw as Mark's fists clenched, and gave him a nudge until the American released the pent-up emotion.

    Mark slumped next to him, hands going up to his hair as he muttered through his arms, "We're alone in this."

    Jack let his eyes wander, catching the tv flicker static. ". . .yeah," he mumbled.

    "Probably shouldn't tell the girls, or any of our friends, 'cause they'll insist on you seeing a doctor, which probably won't end well."

    "Probably."

     After a few more moments of silence, Mark took a few deep breathes, and moved out from behind his hands, making sure to look at Jack fully. "Seán."

    Jack turned, meeting his gaze. He saw worry, and helplessness in those brown eyes, but also strong resolve.

    "We're gonna figure this out, okay? Whether be it that I stay up all night with you, or if I meet this Anti-you, we'll figure it out, got it?"

     Jack found himself nodding along, warmth of friendship and determination blossoming in his chest. It felt good, the support. "Effing got it."

     ( _But he also felt the coldness of foreboding, coiling and clawing its way up his spine, ready to dig into him once more._ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't drawn anything for any _Dissociation_ fic yet, but I might; does anyone know how to upload an image from either a mobile or an android tablet to AO3?


	9. Channel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a reprieve as the two friends talk plans.
> 
> Too bad Jack knows all to well that it won't be that simple.
> 
> After all, Anti is a part of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^^^me trying so hard to keep chapter titles in line with technology/tv mechanics. (The title 'Channel' is in regards to those channels with no program on, where it's just the lines of color and the single high-pitched tone. Could also be implied of someone changing the channel, since things are changing.)
> 
> So. We've made it to where I have no idea how to continue. How involved do I want Mark? I know I won't have Anti posses Jack to hurt him, or threaten Jack about hurting him. As much as this tactic would work, Anti wants Jack to be afraid of what he'll do to _Jack_. And Jack to be afraid of himself.
> 
> So delicate process all around.
> 
> Eh, we'll see how it goes. If it ends up not receiving the greatest reception, oh well.

_Channel_

* * *

  As much as Jack knew Mark was sincere in what he said, he knew there wasn't much hope in it.

  All they could really do was stay up together for awhile, or Mark stay awake while Jack slept. They didn't know enough about this Anti-Seán's influence - just that whatever he did, Jack could _see_ and _hear_ and _**feel**_.

   But Mark would eventually need to sleep, too. And leaving the appartment wouldn't help; Jack knew it would follow him wherever he went. It's just better to keep him in a - well, _controlled_ wouldn't be exactly the right word, but - controlled environment.

   "So," Mark began. "What's our next ste-"

   The ringing of a phone caught both of their attention. Mark's brow furrowed as he pulled it from his pocket. It soon morphed into recognition as he saw the Caller ID. He answered the phone.

   "Hey, Ethan; what's up?"

    Jack watched him as they conversed, faintly catching Ethan's voice through the receiver.

   "Chica's being a good girl? That's great."

   . . .

   "Yeah, let her know that's fine."

   . . .

   "How's Jack? He's. . ." Mark's eyes flickered to the Irishman. Jack gave him a nod, gesturing so-so. He knew that Mark had told his housemates that he was going to Jack's - neither had expected a call so soon. "He's, eh, you know." Mark fought to keep his voice from trembling. He hated hiding things, but. . . "Still having. . .sleep trouble. But we're . . . we're figuring things out."

   . . .

   "Uh-huh?"

    . . .

   "Oh okay, I will. Send the girls my love - that includes Tyler," he giggled, and Ethan could be heard snorting on the other end. "Okay, buh-bye."

   "They all send their love and hope you feel better," Mark says after hanging up, fondness evident in his tone. Jack let's the warmth of that little family settle with him for the moment.

   "I'll give them a call later," he promises.

   They go right back to their cold reality, Mark finally saying, "So what's the next step? We have an idea of what to do, but not much beyond that."

   "I guess. . .let's just take it a day at a time, maybe?" It's the best they can hope for, at least.

   Jack's trying to stay positive, he really is. 

   Mark nods, complying to the idea. "I guess we'll just start with staying up for the next twenty-four hours. Stay in the same room no matter what - if someone needs to use the toilet then the other can stand outside the door, and we'll keep up conversation."

   Jack hadn't even really thought that far ahead, actually; he'd been more focused the previous night, and when Mark would inevitably fall asleep. "Okay, sounds good so far."

   "Seán?" Jack looks up. He hadn't even realized he had been staring down, at his hands tightly clasped, arms scooted close to his stomach. "Are you. . . are you okay? I mean, sorry, that's stupid to ask." A sigh as the American runs his fingers through his dark hair. "What I meant to ask is - does it still. . .does it still hurt?"

   Jack notices him gesturing to his stomach. "It's fine - I mean, it hurt like a beech earlier, but it's - it's mostly fine now." His voice dropped softly towards the end.

   Then there were arms around him, gently encasing him. Mark didn't squeeze him too tightly - Jack knew he could easily slip out if he wanted to - but there was enough pressure to let Jack know that Mark was _here_ for him.   

   "Sorry; just felt you might need it," Mark mumbled.

   Seán, recovering from the brief surprise, hugged him back. It seemed like their greeting hug the previous morning was eons ago.

    "Yeah, I did," he murmured back. "Thanks."

    After a few more moments, they let go, and began to prepare for the long, twenty-four hours ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like the song _Exuus_ by Glass Animals and think it fits the egos/Egopocolypse well.
> 
> Sorry; it's stuck in my head still.


	10. File

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something Jack comes to realize is that Anti is willing to take any opportunity to mess with him.
> 
> But that doesn't mean it'll always end with him bleeding out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOSH. I'm back friendos.
> 
> Well, sorta. Life is a rollercoaster of emotion.
> 
> Anyways, I'm back with this little fic. I'm trying to keep chapters short/simple, since that's how this fic sorta is. I was a little stuck, then got an idea, then Jack mentioned his break so I wanted to wait a few days before getting back into the swing of things.
> 
> Something to keep in mind is that Anti doesn't look too different from Jack in this - just eye color, and when the throat slash is visible (and outfit of course.) I use a lot of, I guess imagery with him - so his smile is sharp, but not his actual teeth.

_File_

* * *

 They went about their day, keeping an eye out for Anti. Seán was reasonably jumpy, especially when the tv fizzed to life. Mark muttered a quick apology, having forgotten that Anti had last "left" through there.

   "I just thought we could watch a movie to take our mind off things," Mark said.

   "Well I think that sounds like a great idea."

   Jack noticed that Mark was avoiding anything with violence or horror for his benefit - and while normally Jack would protest, for once, he really didn't feel like watching either genre.

    They settled on infomercials for awhile - eventually they put their bathroom plan into action, which, while awkward to converse while the other was going, it did alleviate some of Jack's fear.

    And Anti didn't show up once.

    _Honestly, I'm surprised. And a little concerned_ , he thought.

   But, despite the recent tension. . .he felt himself beginning to relax. Just a little bit. Things naturally flowed so that they seemed vaguely normal. They both made the same, stupid, idiotic jokes and commentary about the tv. In some corner of Jack's mind, he wondered when Anti would strike, but it eventually grew quieter. It wasn't that he had forgotten; rather, he had begun to feel safe.

   The seconds that had been previously crawling by rolled into hours that calmly faded into one another. After infomercials, they watched movies on some channel dedicated to comedy movies. They both laughed - pointing out the old, early 2000s film quality, while praising it's ridiculous writing.

    " A 'slapping dummy'? Really?" Mark asked with a laugh. "Why would he need that to become a Master Of Disguise?"

    Jack was chuckling too as the main character got owned by the wooden figure. "More importantly, how is it _beating_ him?"

    Mark just shook his head. After a few more minutes, Jack noticed him glancing over into the kitchen. " . . .Mark?"

    "Hmm?" He had been biting his lip, and looked back at Jack. "What? Oh." Mark seemed a little twitchy. "I was thinking of getting some popcorn. Just. . ."

    _didn't want to leave you here alone_ , was what went unsaid.

    Jack glanced over once more; it was easy to see into the kitchen from where he was sitting - a gap between a counter/bar and some cabinets. Honestly, Jack could go with him, but it was _right there_. Mark could easily see and hear him - more so than through the bathroom door.

    After another moment's debate, he inclined his head. "Go."

    "You sure?" Mark was frowning.

     Jack nods. "Yeah. I can see right into the kitchen from here, which means you can see and hear me. I mean, it's no less safe from the bathroom idea. Right?"

    Mark nods, though with some reluctance. "Okay then. I'll be right back. Anything specific you want on your popcorn?"

    Jack gives a cheeky grin. "A whole stick of butter?"

    Mark laughs as he gets up. "I thought you were trying to eat healthier?"

   He shrugs, "Eh, not today."

   Mark's chuckling dies off as he leaves, and Jack let's himself get absorbed into the movie. He can clearly hear Mark whistling in the kitchen, getting a pot and oil to pop some popcorn kernels, since Jack is out of the microwaveable stuff.

    Ugh, he really needed to go shopping, didn't he?

    But as his attention locks back onto the screen, he feels an arm drape around his shoulders, almost friendly like.

    He knows it isn't.

    ( _Is this what his friends feel, when he drapes his own arm around their shoulders, on days where the group is pulling one another closer as they laugh and laugh, as though they can share their joy any more_?)

    " _I said I would be back, didn't I?_ " The question is sharply spoken. The arm drawing a little tighter.

    Seán's mouth is dry, throat clamped and strained as he tried to make a noise, _any_ noise. He turns in fear, his own face clear, close, green eyes twinkling. He looks past Anti and sees Mark, oblivious, and hears the popcorn popping loudly.

    He should have gone with him.

    His döppleganger shrugs, mouth quirked in a smile. " _Maybe? But now you can spend some time with little ol' me. You didn't even try to say hi today_."

   Jack is trembling now, scared, terrified, after what happened the last time he acknowledged Anti's existence. Everything he and Mark talked about before feels useless at best - Mark is _right there_ , unaware that Anti is here. That Anti could easily choke him or stab him again before Mark is even done cooking.

    Anti, who seems to know his thoughts, smiles, patting his shoulder roughly. It's all fake, an act; a facsimile of friendly interaction. " _Oh, don't worry Jackaboy. I'm not gonna do anything. **Yet**_." He chuckles, pulling Jack close so that he can whisper in his ear.

   " _After all, what happens next is up to you_."

    Jack wasn't sure when the static became such a normal occurance. But he really wished it would drown out Anti's ( _his_ ) voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Changed the endnote recently.)
> 
> I've been seeing people do edit's with Anti with the song 'Twisted' (by MISSIO I think??) and honestly I've been headcanoning that song for him for months, so I'm happy people see it too.
> 
> One day my A/Ns will be short. Today is not that day.


	11. Crossroad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anti is letting Jack make a choice. But only this once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is referencing a crossroad in the path on a circuit board. Maybe I should have called it 'circuit'. Eh.
> 
> SORRY IT IS A TINY CHAPTER.
> 
> Anti is the sort of person who's both careless and careful with his wording.
> 
> Fun fact: the movie referenced, last chapter, is an actual movie called _Master Of Disguise_. It's my favourite Live Action movie and I try to reference it when I can. I should watch it again soon XD.

    _Crossroad_

* * *

 

   "Wh- what do you mean," Jack managed to rasp.

    Anti tilts his head, a sick smile splitting across his face. " _I'm going to_ let _you make a choice, understand?_ "

    Jack's confusion must show, because Anti quietly chuckles. " _This time, I'm going to let you decide: Do you want to tell little Markimoo about our chat, or keep it a secret? **I** don't care, personally.  . . .But do you?_ " His hand shifts to the back of Jack's neck, fingers clawing into the skin. " _You better think carefully, because this is the only time I'm going to let you make a choice. Got it?_ "

    What?

     Jack flinched as the arm slithered off of him, and Anti stood, stretching. He could hear every vertebrate pop. " _Think very, very carefully, Seán. See you soon~_ " there was a sniggering giggle from the döppleganger, and then he was gone, form glitching from sight.

    Static noise filling the void, underlying the sound from the tv, and Mark's cooking. Seán sat there, tense, as his mind raced.

    What did he mean, he was _letting_ him make a choice? Jack wasn't stupid; he understood the underlying threat. He just was having a hard time processing it. Was Anti insinuating that in the future, there would be consequences for telling Mark? 

    But surely he couldn't do any worse than he already had? Yes, Jack was scared - terrified, even - but like hell he was going to let that psychopath control him that way. His hands tightened their grip on his knees, and he felt irrationally angry. He took a deep breath and loosened his hands. He knew he was more frustrated and upset than actually angry - anger, genuine anger, had never fit him.

    Plus, there was still a choice to make.

    Jack wasn't a liar, never had been. Not even by obscurification. But honestly, Anti hadn't done much. Just popped up and threatened him. He had never told Mark the full details of the earlier, non-violent encounters. His friend never pushed.

    But. . .keeping silent is probably what Anti wanted. He probably wanted to divide Jack and Mark; subconsciously make Jack think he couldn't trust one of his best friends.

    Right?

    Why did he feel reluctant to tell Mark, anyways?

     Jack's brain felt cloudy with confusion.

    He could always mention that Anti popped up and threatened him, right? He didn't have to give features of what he said if he felt uncomfortable. Mark was understanding like that.

    But if Mark felt that it was more important to know, he might push a little. And Jack didn't really want to share, though he didn't know why.

    But he couldn't lie to his friend, either.

    He sat there, staring blankly at the carpeted floor, thoughts drifting in a circle of yes-no-maybe. He was startled as he felt the couch dip next to him, and turned to see Mark had returned, a big, plastic bowl heaped with buttery popcorn. He was holding the bowl out towards Seán, the other hand already grasping a good portion of the snack.

    Mark was frowning.

    "Is everything okay?" He asked.

     And Jack knew then what choice to make.

    He took a deep, shaky breath.

    "I just saw Anti again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngggghhhhh lowkey I want to draw a cover-art for this fic, but I suck at drawing humans. I'll try something. Soon.
> 
> Also, I don't do public thank-yous enough. So, to everyone reading, and commenting. Thank you very much for supporting this silly little story ^u^.


	12. Another note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is something I've given much thought to.

I-

This is really hard to do.

I’m really, really beyond sorry, but I’m not sure if I can continue writing _Static_ at this time.

Don’t worry, this isn’t a domino effect that will affect my other _Dissociation_ pieces. Only _Static_.

I don’t know why, but anytime I think about writing or continuing this piece, I feel _guilty_. Like, gut-wrenchingly guilty.

Is it because it’s been so long since I updated, and I feel sorry for leaving you guys hanging? Did I unintentionally trigger something from my shoved-down memories? Conflict with my beliefs?

 _Alexthymia_. I’m not sure _why_ I feel this way. I just do. And I. . .I can’t force myself to write if I’m not feeling it and especially not if it’s making me feel any negative emotions.

I _**Love**  Static_. I Love _writing_ _Static._

But I also feel guilty whenever the fic comes to mind.

I honestly want to cry even telling you guys this, but I can’t keep being torn between two emotions like this.

As of October 1, 2018 Sunday, _Static_ is in Indefinite Hiatus.

Thank you for all the support on this fic thus far.

 


	13. (DISCONTINUED)

Whew, okay, finally got around to doing this.

 

This fic. . .I don’t want to hold out hope for people, so I think it’s officially time to say it’s discontinued. 

There’s . . .a lot of reasons for this, that I won’t get into. But I do want to talk about some of what I had had planned. I owe y’all that much.

    So, the only concrete thing planned was the ending.

   Mark originally wasn’t going to get involved, but it felt illogical for him to notice his friend hurting and not come help - he has too big of a heart. And I did eventually want to get Signe involved but didn’t know how to write her (this was written before they seperated/broke up, and also ultimately adding the final nail for why I’m stopping this story). 

    But, I didn’t know much beyond that. I added more elements than intended, and was left juggling more than I could.

    I haven’t lost my love for this story or concept. I’ve decided to leave it up instead of deleting.

    Now, the ending I had planned was along these lines: Seàn, in front of a mirror and looking at Anti, shattering the mirror after realizing the truth - _Anti has no power over him if he believes he doesn’t._

    Anti literally could only touch Jack because he _made him believe he could_.

    Now, while this story will not be continuing, this isn’t the end of Static!Anti.

    I will still be using this ‘version’ of him (I’m actually going to write a tumblr post about my two versions of Anti and canon Anti) in one-shots and unassociated pieces, so keep watch for that tag.

    Anyways, sorry if this is incoherent; I’ve been sick for over a week but wanted to get this out before I let myself procrastinate again.

    I wish you all the best in reading and writing!


End file.
